An Endearing Moment
by Lord Kristine
Summary: Claire is sick to death of her monotonous job. When she finds herself wishing for a change of pace, she gets just that. A strange woman lures her to a secret meeting at Alfonzo's. Much to her chagrin, she bumps into a certain coworker. Great. And what's the deal with this woman and her obsession with an ancient cambodian stegoceratops carving? . . . Bridge Series 2/4


Claire didn't know what a hard day was anymore. It seemed to her that _every_ day was hard, some more than others, but still, all hard and unending. She was reminded of her teenage years, during which she felt "tired" every day. This sense of "tired" blurred into a monotonous cycle of not-quite-memory, and while she could remember the general _sense_ of these days, none stuck out to her in particular. It was the same now, in her adult life. No single day stood out, and when it did, it was not for the better. The brain has a way of glossing over repeated information, so whenever something unusual occurred, it would only make the day feel longer.

Of course, her life was not without excitement. She had just recently discovered that she was the butt of yet another office joke, and she felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner. Her coworkers had been giving her assorted candies, mostly Skittles, and at first, she was touched by the gesture. Then, she realized that they were only giving her treats so that they could witness her sorting them into color categories. She was a goddamn animal to them. And speaking of which-

No, it wasn't a good idea to even _think_ about that.

In any case, Claire was ready for a change. Not one of those fake-changes that made days feel long, but an actual, significant change. One she could appreciate, and one that would not be detrimental to her work. Could she even _find_ a change like this? Maybe there was no such thing as good change. Ah, well. She still had five bags of Skittles, so there was _that_ . . .

As Claire locked up her office, she sighed with exhaustion. It had been one of those not-so-hard-it's-evil-but-still-pretty-bad days, and she was looking forward to going home and getting some of her work done there. The sound of her keys turning in the lock was the punctuation mark to the sentence of her office hours, and the finality made her a little happier. Of course, when she nearly walked straight into an unfamiliar woman who had been standing behind her, that happiness was replaced with confusion and distress. Her day wasn't over, after all.

"Good evening, Dr. Dearing."

The woman stared at her with ice-cold blue eyes. She was like a hawk, if hawks could wear stilettos. Despite her intimidating glare, Claire decided that the woman looked tidy and presentable, which meant that she could be trusted. She was on her side.

"Hello. I wasn't expecting any visitors . . ."

The woman's lips grew tighter. It took a second for Claire to realize that it was supposed to be a smile.

"We have business to discuss, Claire. Important business. Care to join me at Alfonzo's?"

Claire blinked.

"I'm on my way home."

"Oh, trust me, Claire. This is one meeting you _don't_ want to miss."

*************C*************

Forty-eight and a half minutes later, they were sitting in a shady bar. Well, maybe "shady" was a harsh word, as it seemed to be a decent establishment, but to Claire, any bar with a noise level above the average restaurant was beneath her. She didn't like this atmosphere, and she was a little surprised that this strange woman, who had identified herself as Julia Spurr, had chosen such an informal meeting place. Of course, the woman wasn't making much sense, despite her cold tone.

"Dr. Dearing, do you recognize this temple?"

She showed Claire a photograph of an ancient pile of rocks with vines growing up the walls in webs of foliage. Claire cocked her head.

"No, I don't recognize it. I'm not an archaeologist, so-"

"This is the Ta Prohm temple in Cambodia. It's a popular historical site. You may remember it from movies such as Tomb R-"

"Dr. Spurr, this is all very fascinating, but I don't see what it has to do with _me_."

The woman paused, then reached into her briefcase.

"Well, Dr. Dearing, we were hoping that you could identify an ancient piece of artwork. A carving. Take a look."

When Spurr revealed the photograph, Claire's heart leapt into her throat. It was very clearly a stegoceratops. Spurr noticed her sudden dread, but Claire tried to fight it off, nonetheless.

"It looks like a . . . chameleon."

Spurr didn't move.

"It looks like a dinosaur to me."

Claire shook her head.

"People and dinosaurs never coexisted. Well, not in ancient times, at least. I'm sure you're familiar with the work I do at-"

"Don't toy with me, Dearing. If you have information on this piece, I expect you to disclose it. Are we understood?"

Claire lifted her chin.

"I have no information."

Spurr nodded.

"Very well. I have to powder my nose. I'll be back soon. Don't leave."

Claire watched the woman stalk away, her heels clinking against the floor like chopsticks on a plate. There was something very wrong with this scenario, and she was getting all sorts of bad vibes. Was this woman some sort of cult leader? No, she was too sophisticated. Was she CIA? Possibly, though Claire couldn't think of any reason why she'd want to talk about an ancient temple in Cambodia. This whole situation was a little spooky. At the very least, things couldn't get any worse . . .

"Hi, Claire!"

Oh, fuck.

Claire spun around on her barstool and gave a pained smile.

"Owen . . . Hi . . ."

"Fancy seeing _you_ here!" he said coyly, "I didn't know you were into the club scene . . ."

"I'm not. I'm here with . . . a friend."

"Ah, that's fun. This is one of my haunts, as you may have guessed."

Claire spoke through her teeth.

"Is that so? Well, I'd better let you get back to 'haunting'."

Claire dug her nails into her palm as Owen hopped up on the stool beside her.

"What's new?"

"Nothing much."

"Did you get a lot of work done today?"

"Yes."

"That must be interesting."

"Not really."

Owen waved to the bartender.

"José! The usual, please, and one for my friend, too."

Claire inhaled sharply.

"Actually, I don't want-"

"Oh, come on. Live a little. José mixes the _best_ drinks. Trust me, you don't want to miss-"

Claire didn't know if she was relieved that Spurr had returned. On one hand, she was coco-bananas. On the other hand, Owen was Owen, so . . .

"Are you Claire's friend?" Owen asked.

Spurr stared at him with that same cold expression.

"We're doing business."

"Ah. I'll leave you to it, then. I'll see you later, though, right?" he said with a quick wink, darting away before Claire could deny his request. Spurr turned to her once more and gave a venomous smile.

"Right. Let's try this again."

*************C*************

Claire didn't know how or why she had accepted a drink from this woman. By all accounts, it was against her nature to do such a thing, but luckily, the alcoholic fuzz in her brain managed to numb her feelings of impending doom. The woman, after all, was still asking about the stegoceratops carving, and that didn't make Claire happy. Not one bit. To make matters worse, on her second trip to the bathroom (What had this woman been _drinking_?), Owen showed up yet again to pester his prey.

"Hey. How's the meeting going?"

"Fine," Claire hummed, "It's going fine. I'm fine."

Owen leaned against the bar casually and smiled at her.

"While your friend is away, I was wondering if you wanted to dance."

Claire blinked.

"Dance?" she echoed.

Owen nodded.

"Yeah, I thought you might like to. If you want, I could talk to the DJ-"

"No, I'm fine. I don't dance."

Claire was expecting Owen to bring up that awkward moment when he had caught her dancing in her office, but he didn't. Instead, he just stared at her with a whimsical expression.

"You have really nice eyes."

Claire looked away.

"My friend will be back soon."

"What have you got to lose by dancing?"

Claire frowned.

"Owen, I don't want to dance."

"What if I danced with you?"

"That would make it worse."

Spurr returned. Owen noticed her, and looked disappointed.

"Well, I'll be seeing you, then."

Claire watched him leave. As he turned to look over his shoulder, she glanced at the ceiling. There was no need to encourage him.

*************C*************

"For the last time, I don't know anything about this carving!" Claire said loudly.

Spurr wasn't impressed.

"Would you allow us to take a blood sample, Dr. Dearing?"

Claire shook her head.

"Look, I dunno what you think you're doing, but . . ."

She lost her train of thought.

Claire was vaguely aware that she had started to slur her words a few drinks ago, but what else could she do but chug back the liquor to numb the unpleasantness of her meeting? This woman was an absolute nutcase, and Owen was like a vulture. As soon as Spurr left for the bathroom, there he'd be, smiling at Claire like flirting was his goddamn birthright. How many times did Spurr have to _use_ the washroom, anyway? She had probably pissed out half of her body weight by now.

"Will you excuse me for a moment? I have to go powder my nose."

Christ! This woman. _This woman_.

"Hi, Claire."

Ah, right on cue.

"What do you want, Owen?"

He gave a half-smile.

"I was wondering if you wanted to dance with me."

"I already said 'no'."

Owen's smile grew more brilliant.

"I know, but here's the thing; I was talking with the DJ, and he agreed to play your favorite song."

Claire winced as a familiar tune began to play on the dance floor. She frowned deeply.

"Owen, I will _not_ dance with you."

He reached for her hand.

"Just this once? I promise, you'll have fun."

And then, Claire snapped.

"Oh, for the love of god! Can't you take a hint?"

She stood up, stumbling slightly.

" _This_ is me."

She held up her hand, pronated.

" _This_ is you."

She held out her other hand, lower than the other.

" _You_ are beneath _me_. If this was a food chain, I would be _eating_ you."

Her words were slurring, but she didn't care. It was time to put her foot down. Just not literally, or she'd probably fall over.

"I am a _scientist_. I have a degree that's worth all of your education _times fifty_. I am _above_ you. I am _better_ than you. I am a Mercedes Benz, and you are a second-hand punchbuggy. You have rust, but I am sleek and new and everyone wants me."

Owen didn't change his expression. He was looking at her with a firm mien.

"You are scum!" Claire continued, "I shouldn't even be in the same _vicinity_ as you. I can feel my value depreciating just by standing next to you. You are a remover of good. You suck the good out of everything."

Owen looked down. He still didn't change his expression, but Claire could tell that he was feeling _something,_ though she couldn't identify a specific emotion.

"Go away, Owen. Go find your crappy little friends and a crappy little woman so you can live your crappy little life far away from me. I don't _want_ you. I'd be _crazy_ to _want_ you. I can do better. You are nothing."

Owen tightened his lips and stood up.

"Fine, Claire, if that's the way you feel, I can go. I'd rather not stay here, anyway. You know, most people would be glad that someone made an effort to make them happy. I guess you're happy enough. You don't need my help."

Although his outward demeanor remained the same, something in his tone of voice indicated that he was seething. Not that Claire _cared_ , of course. She was glad to be rid of him.

"Dr. Dearing . . ."

Ah, yes, and then there was Spurr. Well, Claire saw no problem with her. She was strong and independent, even if she was a little bit kooky. They were friends, and that's what was important.

"Dr. Dearing, my clients would like a blood sample from you."

Claire held out her wrist.

"Sure, sure. Knock yourself out."

*************C*************

Owen tapped his fingers on the table, examining the ring of moisture that his glass had left behind. It flashed pink and mauve in the light of the club. Owen rubbed it around with his index finger, making the water form beads on the synthetic wood.

He didn't know what to think of Claire's explosion. On one hand, she was clearly drunk, so that might explain her harshness. On the other hand, she genuinely didn't like him, so that was a possibility as well. At least he had tried. It wasn't _his_ fault that she was a frigid, lonely, miserable woman who had some sort of issue with the "peasant folk". And she was still there. Lord be praised, she was still at the bar.

Owen frowned when he noticed that her "friend" was no longer sitting beside her. It was possible that she was using the toilet again, but Claire didn't look like she was expecting her to return, and the woman's briefcase was gone. But Claire was still there. Why? She didn't seem to be getting ready to leave. As a matter of fact, she was ordering more drinks.

Owen was no expert on metabolisms (except his own, from personal experience), but he was damn well sure that Claire had reached her limit six drinks ago. She was swaying like a skyscraper, and she seemed very out-of-it.

Owen turned away. It was none of his business. There was nothing he could do to help, and she wouldn't _want_ to be helped by him, anyway. She was fine. She was competent. And now, she was stumbling out of the bar- Oh Christ, she was going to get herself _killed_!

Owen jogged after a very plastered Claire. When she tripped on the doorframe, he was there to catch her.

"Claire, you need to find yourself a cab."

She looked up at him with a dazed expression. Her eyelids were uneven.

"Whaddabout my friend? She drove me here . . ."

Owen exhaled.

"She left. Claire, I think you need to-"

His eyes went wide as she grabbed his crotch. Quickly, he yanked her hand away.

"Claire, that's not funny."

She burst into a fit of insane laughter.

"You're not so bad, after all . . ."

She leaned forward, but Owen swerved out of the way.

"Claire, stop. You're embarrassing yourself."

She giggled.

"I think I'd rather, though. You're a lot of fun. Remember when we climbed that mountain together?"

Owen frowned.

"Claire, we never climbed a mountain."

"Sure we did. We ate grapes. Grapes! There was snow, and we kissed. God, that was a good kiss. It made me feel right, like if you could love me, nothing else mattered."

Owen signaled to a nearby cab. He helped Claire inside. He was about to leave, but instead, he sat down beside her.

"Christ, I'm going to regret this . . ."

Claire leaned against his shoulder. There was nothing he could do but sit still and swat her away whenever she got grabby.

"Owen, I think you're nice."

He snuffed.

"What ever happened to 'scum of the earth'?"

Her eyes sparkled innocently.

"You're relaxed. People like you. _I_ like you."

Owen frowned as she tried to kiss him. She missed by a mile and fell into his lap.

"Owen, I think I'm drunk . . ."

"That's the first sensible thing you've said all evening."

*************C*************

When Owen had paid the cab driver, he walked Claire up to her office. He wasn't sure where she lived, so this was the next best thing. Tomorrow was a Saturday, anyway, so he doubted that anyone important would be around in the morning. Of course, who could predict anything about these crazy scientists and their wonky schedules?

Owen helped Claire hobble over to a couch and lie down. When he removed her shoes, she began to remove other articles of clothing, and he stopped her. He found a labcoat to serve as a blanket and tucked her in. She moaned softly and rolled over.

When he helped himself to a couple of Skittles, Owen noticed something peculiar on Claire's desk. It was the note he had given her when she got upset about a dud egg in the lab. It was strange that she had been so torn up about an egg in the first place (scientists probably saw these things bite it by the dozen), but to actually _keep_ his note? . . . That was very unclairelike.

Well, maybe he had reached her in some way. Maybe she wasn't as frigid as she claimed to be. It couldn't hurt to leave her another one, surely? . . .

Owen grabbed a pen and a post-it note. He began to write, until he heard an echo in his head.

 _You are scum! I shouldn't even be in the same vicinity as you. I can feel my value depreciating just by standing next to you. You are a remover of good. You suck the good out of everything._

Owen lifted his pen.

 _Go away, Owen. Go find your crappy little friends and a crappy little woman so you can live your crappy little life far away from me. I don't want you. I'd be crazy to want you. I can do better. You are nothing._

Owen sneered and threw out the post-it note. After a second, he balled up the original note, too. He stormed out of the office bitterly.

"I never really liked you, anyway."


End file.
